The TellTale Scent
by Someone Who Isn't Me
Summary: One morning, Germany wakes up to find that his house smells like something is burning. Is he going insane, haunted by his guilty conscience? Or is the explanation something much simpler? Set during World War II. Oneshot.


**The Tell-Tale Scent**

Warning: A few swear words and allusions to the Holocaust. Also, I'm kind of new to fanfiction, so the writing may not be the best.

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><p>Ludwig had passed through the gates of Hell. Behind him lay the vast nothingness of Purgatory, and ahead stood a red-skinned demon, glistening in the reflected light of a lava flow.<p>

"Herr Germany, is everything to your satisfaction?" The demon motioned toward the scorched landscape. Ludwig looked where the demon had pointed, and immediately wished he hadn't.

Everywhere he looked, there were imps stabbing people with pitchforks and throwing them into pits of open flame. There was not as much screaming as he had expected, just the crackling of fire and the sickening odor of burnt flesh.

For a second, Ludwig thought he saw Feliks in the distance, a tiny figure being pushed toward one of the pits. Then the dry heat made him blink, and the other nation was gone.

"Are they suffering enough?" the demon continued, grinning wide enough to show pointed fangs. Ludwig found his voice.

"No, I mean yes, they're suffering enough, but I didn't mean for-"

"For it to be this way?" The demon finished his sentence in a high-pitched, patronizing tone. "Oh, Ludwig. What did you _think_ would happen?"

Ludwig couldn't answer. His vision had begun to fade and blur at the edges. He thought of a thousand things to say to the demon, a thousand justifications for the scene before him. But by the time he managed to open his mouth, he found himself staring at a patch of ceiling above his bed.

Ludwig groaned and forced himself to sit up. It would be useless to lie there and wallow in nightmares. That would teach him not to eat wurst before bed...

As he prepared for the day ahead, Ludwig couldn't help but notice a peculiar smell in the air. It wasn't very strong, and it wafted and vanished with the air currents, but it was faintly disturbing all the same. It was like a weaker version of the smell from his nightmare, and it seemed to be following him.

He walked from room to room of his mansion. No matter where he was, he could still sense it. With each step he took, Ludwig's paranoia grew. Was it in his hair? Clinging to his clothes? Emanating from his skin?

Ludwig nearly ran to his bathroom, where he threw off his uniform and turned on the faucet. He scrubbed himself in a tub of icy water, rubbing his skin raw. The German sighed with relief when he realized that he couldn't smell that disgusting scent anymore.

Really, he was surprised that he had allowed a small thing like that to affect him so deeply. If he didn't take himself in hand he would end up being as soft and sentimental as Italy!

Speaking of Italy... Where was he? Ludwig hadn't yet seen him that morning, which was unusual. Especially considering that the boy had a habit of sleeping in Ludwig's bed.

Ludwig dried himself and dressed in record time. He hoped Italy hadn't been kidnapped again or done something stupid. Despite himself, he kind of liked the little guy. He rushed into the hallway, ready to save Feliciano from whatever he had gotten himself into this time, and was immediately greeted by that Same. Damn. Smell.

It was stronger now, and he was slightly reassured by the fact that it lacked the especially acrid component of burnt hair. Just the flesh, then. And it finally seemed to have some direction to it.

Ludwig followed the scent, heart pounding in his throat. Was the universe trying to play some sort of cruel joke on him? He had avoided the concentration camps as much as possible, and bathed compulsively every time he returned from one. So what, for the love of God, was that smell doing in his own house?

Then an even more frightening thought struck him. What if it was Feliciano burning? What if those Allied bastards had caught him and...

Ludwig growled deep in his throat and hurled himself through the nearest door, which happened to lead to the living room. He was greeted by the sight of Italy sitting in front of the fireplace, holding a scorched sausage on a stick in the center of the flame.

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><p>Thanks for reading! If you liked it, please review.<p> 


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